As the Brotherhood got down to business, he found himself putting his hand on the dog’s big head and stroking the soft fur…playing with an ear…dipping down and finding the long waves that flowed from the animal’s broad, strong chest. Not that any of that meant he was keeping the the animal, of course. It just felt nice, was all.

What happened to you?" she asked. "I got hit in the side." "With what?" "A knife.

...Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch. It was Zsadist. His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang. The scarred one, the souless one, had the voice of an angel.

Yanking his inner manwhore back to the land of polite conversating, he forced his hands to stop

Butch didn't live in his own place. He didn't spend his own money. He had no job, no future. He was a well-kept pet, not a man.

The weight of the dead was heavier than the pounds of the body.

Jane: Focus is important. V: Only if you're a microscope.